


mykonos summers (without me)

by nimrodcracker



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: (AKA Kassandra being Kassandra), Angst, Dinners, Excessive Swearing, F/F, Funerals, Grief/Mourning, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Game, Reconciliation, farming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrodcracker/pseuds/nimrodcracker
Summary: Long after dismantling the Cult, Kassandra returns to Mykonos City.





	mykonos summers (without me)

**Author's Note:**

> posting this before i start re-editing stuff again because my perfectionism is off the charts and i need to stop that 
> 
> title inspired by [pâquerette (without me)](https://open.spotify.com/track/3EmVLU2EHNEJf646hdsu7s), by with confidence. it's the reason why i wrote this, so give it a listen as you read.

**α.**

_If we keep moving forward - always moving forward - we're untouchable._

Myrrine can only look at her as Kassandra holds her in her arms. The blood dribbles out, crimson and sticky, from the wound that Deimos inflicted. Deimos, her brother - a brother no longer alive, his body a few paces away, bleeding out too from a spear through his throat. Her spear, because her words and her trust had failed.

Myrinne doesn't have much longer to live.

On Mount Taygetos, years after where it all started, Kassandra wishes she doesn't, too.

She hunts down what remains of the Cult. Stalks them across the Aegean, her broken spear in hand, and her blade of Kronus in another. One, two, three, five, _ten?_ She gets them all, every single one. It takes her months, and months, but that's her purpose. That gives her a reason to wake every morning.

And when the last one falls- no. She lets her go. She lets Aspasia go, even if the sight of her summons heart-rending thoughts of Phoibe. Because she's always had a weakness for a pretty face. _Because staring Aspasia in the eye, it dawns on her how she hasn't the will to kill anymore._

Kassandra dismantles the Cult, regardless. She doesn't feel anything as the pyramid loses its glow. The vengeance evaporates, leaving nothing.

She is empty, and she cannot decide if that's worse than the fury that once devours her from the inside.

\--

_"I used to feel vengeful... Now... empty."_

_"I was in your place, once. The vengeance dies, then the emptiness dies too. Give it time."_

_\--_

Kephallonia is empty. Her house- what's left of the crumbling ruin, inhabited now by wolves that she slays in seconds.

It is too empty. Too much space for one person to inhabit, in a space that used to hold more.

She dares not return to her childhood home in Sparta- no, it remains a house she did not grow up in; a house filled with ghosts. Citizenship be damned. She's had enough of that _malákes_ place and its people. Zeus almighty, she only bothered settling Sparta's shit because _mater_ told her to. Even if King Archidamos himself gifted her an Akropolis's worth of drachmae, Kassandra would still spit in his face and break his nose. Like _mater_ , like daughter.

Kephallonia hasn't moved past the plague. It shows, the way her neighbours have moved to Achaia, to Phokis, rather than invest in an island rife with suffering. Kephallonia reminds Kassandra of all that went wrong, and she balks at all who recognise her when she walks through the busier parts of Sami.

She feels the overwhelming urge to _disappear_. Responsibilities ascribed to her bloodline be damned.

\--

_"Time! I gave my entire life. I want it done! Kronus devours his children - rips them flesh from bone. Zeus had Prometheus torn open by birds for an eternity. Fate is cruel, and the gods are wicked."_

_"Right here, right now, all that matters are the people who have fought for you. They need you now - not the gods."_

_\--_

Barnabas tries talking her out of it, but he lets her be. He leaves her to her grief. Kassandra carries within her lifetimes of silence and pain, and she does not know what to do with it. For too long she's grappled with an ache that she can never place, and it's only gotten heavier after- after everything.

She fears staying in one place too long will anchor her, drag her down with its sheer weight.

"The Adrestia's yours again, Barnabas. Sail the seas with Iola. It's time for me to leave. I don't know if I'll return - I'll go where Poseidon takes me." She's said her goodbyes to the rest of the crew; Odessa, Roxana. The mercenaries she picked up from dust, instead of stabbing them right there, right then, after tracking her down across the Aegean. They hesitate, but they see the determination in her eyes and that quells the questions dancing on the tip of their tongues.

Barnabas looks like he wants to say more, but he smiles softly instead, with that kind eye of his. It's been years travelling with him, but Kassandra still blinks at his affection, freely given. It's not like she can, now. "Where will you go, friend?"

It takes her a while to answer. She glances seaward. "I don't know."

"The Adrestia will always have a place for you. Send Ikaros, and we'll sail back to you." Barnabas clutches her shoulder, and squeezes it - more of a _pater_ than Nikolaos ever was. "Gods be with you."

\--

_"You're right. They do need me. And I need them. We're rebels with nothing left to rebel against. They need me now, more than ever. Thank you."_

_"Kyra... he's gone. Your rebels are waiting."_

_"They're celebrating. Let's celebrate with them."_

_\--_

She follows where her feet take her - parting ways with the Adrestia at the Port of Nisaia, and has been walking since. She rides boats when she crosses water, hitches on carts when her feet are sore. Ikaros is a faithful companion, her only constant as the days blur into each other in a haze.

 _Misthios_ she used to be, and that's that- used to. People know her as the Eagle-Bearer of Zeus, but she wishes they would all forget her. Other Greek mercenaries have bears and lynx plodding behind them too, but _she's_ the only one they remember? _Malakés_. She wishes to be the unknown, two-bit _misthios_ under Markos's employ once again - before her family, the war, the Cult. Before, she had to fight for scraps to survive, but at least she was happier. Life was simpler. If only her contract givers would forget the reputation that precedes her.

She boards a merchant ship on a whim, promises to help against pirates for drachmae and safe passage. Doesn't reveal who she is, slips only her name, but she thinks the captain figures it out eventually; the way her eyes linger, her brows pinching. Sits upright when Ikaros lands on Kassandra's arm, dropping a drachmae into her hand, before flying up to roost on the rigging.

The captain said she'll stop by the islands west of Keos, but she doesn't specify. Kassandra is fine with that.

One morning as they sail into harbour, when she looks up and peers against the sun, she wonders if the gods toy with her still.

Then again, where in the Aegean holds no ghosts for her?

\-- 

_"No one belongs to you, Thaletas. I didn't take your glory, I helped you."_

_"You did nothing! We were in love, you know. We can be again... I can still have her heart, still prove to her I'm the warrior she wants."_

_"Thaletas, don't!"_

_\--_

The years are different, but Mykonos City remains. The houses, the waterways, the people... they're just as she pictures them years ago. Again, too many memories, too much history lingering in the crevices of these buildings that she considers turning back immediately, back to Piraeus or to another island further south like Kythera - but something stops her.

She falls in love with how the water glimmers like diamonds, how the ships sway gently to the sea breeze that tickles her cheeks and fill her nostrils and she _inhales_ -

She feels some of her muscles ease. Feels some measure of quiet in her chest, a lightness; the comfort that comes from feeling safe. That she doesn't have to look over her shoulder, doesn't have to soften her footfalls to know if she's being followed. The heaviness she's been feeling - it disappears, like how Helios and his light disappears behind the trees. It returns, obviously - this heaviness is here to stay - but to feel it ease, however briefly?

Maybe she'll stay awhile, this time. She'll stay for warm Mykonos summers.

 

**β.**

Kassandra hunts ibex to survive on Mykonos, the way she lives on the fringes of the island. Some nights, she wakes to the reek of dead rats beside her, Ikaros blinking his eyes in expectation. She appreciates it, she does, rubbing his head with a sleepy smile, but it's not enough to feed the both of them.

The hunter's life suits her; briny wind in her hair, the whistle of an arrow in her ears before the sturdy _thwack_ of shaft into flesh. She was a chosen of Artemis, after all. A Daughter. Until the moment she scorned Daphnae on the hills of Chios.

 _I could love you._ A desperate kiss, a heartbreaking rejoinder. _I will not break my vow - I'm sorry. Go, and do not return. If we meet again, I will kill you._

Thinking about it makes her chest tighten. So she does not. She thinks of the rush of the hunt, the thought of juicy meat after hours on a roasting spit and an open fire. Of Ikaros picking the meat off bones that her fingers can't.

She thinks of her form. Thinks of how different she's become, from the Kassandra who last visited Mykonos.

She realises there's still a Spartan fort on the highest point of Mykonos, teeming with drachmae and materials for her armour. What better way to keep her skills sharp for hunting mythical beasts, yes?

\-- 

_"Thanks for being with me back there. I needed you."_

_"I wanted to be. You know that."_

_\--_

She starts growing vegetables, a week after claiming this spot near the cliffs as her own. It's potatoes one day. Then, onions. Peppers. She gets to work with her hands, discovers the joys of nurturing life with her fingers. Maybe she'll invest in an orchard one day, like Markos had with his vineyard. Maybe she'll have a farm to rival the sprawling wheat fields in Arkadia or Boeotia, even. Rear a goat or two, for meat and milk.

Of course, her crops all wilt in the beginning, but she gets better with time; learning the moods of the soils, the turn of the winds, the fluctuations of the rain. It reminds her a bit of Kephallonia, actually; the little plot in the back, green shoots sprouting through the earth. Just- Phoibe isn't helping her this time.

 _Oh,_ Phoibe. How Kassandra misses her so. All the strength and speed in the world, but she can't protect those who need it the most. Try as she might, she can't shake the feeling that she's let down not just Phoibe, but herself too.

This is why she choses to live outside the city, in the countryside. Away from claustrophobic brick and stone, and closer to the idyllic beaches of Mykonos. Near to the beach that meant so much memories, once. She sees it everyday, in the distance; whenever she tends to her budding crops, whenever she sits by her fire in the waning sunset, whittling down logs into arrow shafts.

Kassandra decides to grow flowers, one day.

\--

_"Oh! Did you hear? They're promoting Thaletas to general, and sending him back to Sparta in the morning."_

_"Thaletas is... dead. He attacked me on the beach. Because of us."_

_\--_

Where possible, she avoids visiting Tavern Point in favour of Delos, or wherever the sea-wind takes her. Sometimes, even faraway Keos. There, she purchases her spices, seeds, honey. Wine, sometimes, if she has the drachmae to spare, but none thus far.

One blistering afternoon, an amphora of really strong wine sounds mouth-wateringly refreshing, so she heads for the statue of Hermes near the blacksmith and pulls down some contracts. Like old times, just... none that involve killing people. Every time she raises her blade, she thinks she sees Skoura reflected on it whenever it catches the light.

_Anaia's gone. She's been dead for nine years._

Maybe it's time to visit Markos in Kos, she muses, the tinge of pressed grapes wafting over from a passing cart. See what kind of trouble he's landed himself into, again. See the lush fields of red flowers undulating beneath the altar to Apollo. And maybe, finally take up his offer on a lifetime's supply of wine. For old time's sake.

Only then, she remembers: Euneas. Hektor. Timo. The lieutenants of Naxos, awaiting the return of their oligarch.

Then, Timo. _With your shield, or on it._

They need to know. Timo deserves an answer, a courtesy.

Kassandra does not relish what she has to do.

At that moment, she feels eyes on her back - and then not. More passing glances, every time she wanders Mykonos City; even with her hood up, Ikaros flying safely above. She's even changed the way she walks - no more the confident _misthios_ in Athenian blue. Instead, favouring drab mercenery leathers and gray cloth that does not bleed allegiance. She's sick of both, sick of the politics associated with the _malákes_ factions of the mainland. She just wants her quiet life on the islands. Living like a shadow, hunched and forgettable like Nyx.

She hopes it stays at that - glances without a spark of recognition, of who she was. Is. What does a _misthios_ need to do to be left the fuck alone, anyway?

She can't shake off one, though. The feeling of eyes on her, following even as she ambles out of the city. Sometimes, she feels it as she roams the hills in search of ibex, her bow drawn.

It's then when she thinks of glancing back into the distance, to the altar of Artemis just shy off the hill- and doesn't. Doesn't, doesn't, and doesn't. Doesn't allow her mind to wander on things not meant to be.

Kassandra sleeps with her dagger under her pillow, but that's all that it comes to.

\--

_"And you just had to kill him, didn't you?"_

_"He left me no choice."_

_\--_

When sleep eludes her, she sits perched on Artemis's arrow shaft, miles off the ground. All it takes is a single misstep, and she'll land as broken bones and an unrecognisable heap of flesh on Mykonos soil. Better Mykonos than Delos - at least this way, she won't offend the locals, like she had the last.

Here, she has time to think. Here, she can watch Ikaros circle the skies, before diving down to claw dead the beasts that roam the grasslands.

Here, she notices the island south of the quarry. The island that once housed a Cultist, until she slit his throat and kicked him into the sea. It's a crumbling ruin, but it'll do. Some walls to serve as cover, and a tower she can redecorate. The grassy patches help. Her vegetables need a home, too.

She moves her things over that very night.

\--

_"I sent out two notes, and who responds? Thaletas the Spartan, and Kassandra the Eagle Bearer. I never imagined you'd both bring me so much sorrow."_

_"Kyra, I'm sorry."_

_"So am I, misthios. So am I."_

_\--_

It's a full month before she pads over to the beach. _The_ beach. The one with the waves lapping all around the sand, with Mykonos City to the north and the proud buildings of Delos straight west. Delos, in all its opulence and wealth, marbled temples dotting its heights.

She sits with her legs outstretched at the spot near the rocks, the one with a dent in the centre and molluscs clinging to its sides where the waves touch. If she keeps her eyes wide open, she won't hear Thaletas echoing in her ears. She won't see his broken body slumped in the sand, the blood pooling to stain sapphire-blue waters as it washes over him. She won't remember how her spear impaled him to the sand, his throat gurgling a sound ugly to her ears.

If she keeps her eyes open.

She wades into deeper water with her harpoon, and dives in. Fish tastes amazing with the lemons she bought from the agora in Delos that morning.

\--

_Podarkes is now ash, intermingling with charred bark. She sweeps the ash into an urn; a simple urn of clay, painted black at the sides, and one that Kyra picked out earlier that night. Handwraps charred with ash, she dusts them on her snakeskin leathers, before placing the urn back on a clean altar; no hint of a cremation dusting its surface._

_After her speech at Tavern Point on an upturned crate, she'd left. She'd left because she can't stomach being there, in the midst of wine and revelry, when Kyra has all but shunned her - so much grief in those mellow, brown eyes, it hurts. When rebels, locals and pirates alike crow about a better tomorrow. Thaletas is dead by her hand, and she's all but torched her claim to returning to this city._

_The Adrestia will leave in the morning, but not before Kassandra completes one last duty._

_The body is where she left it. His eyes wide open and skyward, his back still flat on the sand. The blood has seeped into the sand, still moist from the salt and the sea._

_Kassandra is thankful that's all she smells as she hefts Thaletas over her shoulder. Spartan she once was, Spartan heritage she still remembers, so she prepares to give Thaletas a proper burial together with the fallen dead of yesterday. They lie peacefully in the sandy beaches north of here, south of the Spartan encampment - what more is another body? She only had to retrieve his ceremonial cloak from his tent, so that Spartan red wraps his body like a cocoon. Retrieve she had - sneaking and stealing she can do with her eyes closed._

_**in war** , she wants to carve on his headstone. A battle he'd lost, and a battle he'd refused to back down from. Regret is what she feels, glancing at his body slumped by a rock. Guilt is what she exhales; the sensation of tightness in her chest again. She could've stunned him, wounded him, anything but killing him. What good is being a famous **misthios** if she lacks restraint?_

_It engulfs her, this unease, much that she doesn't sense someone by her till her chisel and rock of a mallet tumbles into sand after failing to bite into stone. **in wa** , it reads, missing a letter that will make her feel better. **Maláka.**_

_But flowers. Kassandra smells flowers and wine in the sudden breeze and she whips around, throat dry, to see the last person she wants to see._

_She's dug out a body-sized hole, Thaletas nestled inside, but the headstone. She's not done with the headstone, so she can't leave. She's stuck. "Kyra. I-"_

_Kyra looks to her, then to the headstone in her hands. She shakes her head. "Stay." Wordlessly, she moves over to the pile of sandy earth and shovels them back into the hole, shying away from Kassandra's gaze. Regal as she is in her tunic, flowing behind her as she walks... Kassandra can tell she's crying._

_Just hours ago, she'd appeared at Kyra's side with drachmae in hand, **for the ferryman** , holding her tight as Podarkes crumbled to dust. Now..._

_Now she silently carves out a letter on her own, an awful distance between them. Wondering if Kyra will speak to her tonight, in the few moments before Kassandra knows she can never set foot on Mykonos again._

_When she's done, she looks over to see Kyra's back, standing over Thaletas with her shovel as a crutch. Kassandra goes over to stick the headstone in the earth, barely remembers to leave his grandfather's helmet there. After that, though, she doesn't know what to do. She stands beside Kyra, yes, but..._

_She stands beside Kyra, unwilling to disturb the silence between them. Ikaros lands on her shoulder soon after, bouncing over to her arm next as a comforting weight. She knows they can't stay like this forever._

_"His Spartans," Kassandra murmurs. "What should they be told? You can just say I ki-"_

_Kyra dips her head. "Just go, Kassandra. Leave me."_

_Kassandra's breath hitches. She hesitates; torn between turning tail, or to refuse, offer help - but she's done enough damage. She's hurt enough people, and it's time to leave._

_That makes Kassandra drag her gaze away, move her feet. Turn her back to the one woman who saw and understood her on a level long before anyone else did._

_Kyra says nothing. Does nothing, as Kassandra leaves._

_**It's better this way,** Kassandra muses on the walk back, on the seaward journey west, but that doesn't make it hurt any less._

 

**γ.**

Kassandra is drying her hair by the firelight when she hears twigs snapping behind her. Not loudly, just loud enough to warn.

"Kassandra."

Oh, that voice. The voice that haunts her dreams. The voice that stops her from nocking an arrow and drawing her bow, so her hands continue turning the fish roasting over the fire. "What took you so long?"

A soft laugh. How it makes Kassandra think of sweeter days, makes her drop her guard - until Kyra speaks again. "Why did you come?"

"I came to be alone. Why did _you_ come?"

"I wanted to see if the rumours were true."

"Clearly." She looks over her shoulder to see Kyra. It still rankles, how Kassandra's seeing her in the flesh, but she's proud of how her voice doesn't waver. She gestures towards her glorious, open-air kitchen. "Want some fish?"

Kyra startles, before grinning. "I would love to."

Kyra stays for dinner, for roast fish with lemons and herbs. It's dinner lovingly put together by Kassandra, as with all she does. Though, if she knew she would be expecting guests... she would have boiled some potatoes to go with it. _And_ saved the wine she bought three nights ago.

"I didn't think you'd settle down like this. Have a farm, live a quiet life on an island far from anyone... what glory-hunting Spartan or _misthios_ does this?"

"Maybe I decided I wanted to explore islands instead." _Maybe I've had enough of killing._ Kassandra shrugs, picking out bones from her fish skewered on a stick. "People change."

"That they do." Kyra chuckles. "Come live in Mykonos City, Kassandra. It is safer there. Unless - don't tell me - you prefer it out here with the wolves?"

"Oh, it isn't that bad here. I just didn't know if I would be welcome."

"Don't be naïve. You're always welcome there. We could use another set of capable hands to defend the city. Pirates and thugs keep visiting our shores, and we don't have enough soldiers to defend us." Then, Kyra's voice quietens, and Kassandra looks to her in curiosity. "People change. Time eases the hurts of before."

Kyra seems to hint at more, but Kassandra decides that she's tired of guessing masked emotions and things left unsaid. It does not appeal to her like it used to. It makes her crave something she does not deserve. "Where would I stay? I have no drachmae."

"I will take care of it. You just have to live there."

"Tempting. But I fear for my vegetables. Who will take care of them, now?"

"Oh, Kassandra. I'm not stopping you from tending to your vegetables."

"Good, because they don't take too kindly to competition. Though I think I quite like it here. Perhaps I'll just visit Mykonos City more, then. I promise."

Kyra's smile doesn't falter, relief in her playful expression. "I'll be expecting you."

\--

_"And what is it that we have in common?"_

_"I just... We... I just thought that's what people said to each other. I wasn't expecting a follow up."_

_"The mighty Kassandra, caught off her guard!"_

_\--_

Kyra comes by to her island often, Kassandra notes. Unintentionally, of course. Kassandra just happens to notice. She's not expecting anything more out of this friendliness that Kyra extends to her. She doesn't want to. It simply confuses her how the oligarch of Mykonos Island has time to see her.

First, Kyra brings word of contracts and odd jobs around Mykonos. Delivering shoes, retrieving heirlooms stolen by bandits - or the usual of chasing them away. Then, it's baskets of food and the chiding comment that she needs to get out more. What kind of _malákes_ comment is that?

"How about _you_ stay here and help _me_ farm instead?" Kassandra blurts out thoughtlessly one day. "Didn't I say my vegetables get jealous easily?"

It's true - her potatoes are hardy, but her beans need extra care and attention. She's unwilling to let them die. Again.

Almost as she says it, Kassandra moves to apologise, but Kyra-

Kyra doesn't frown at that, only tilts her head in thought. "Actually, why not. It'll be be a nice change from the _malákes_ I have to deal with everyday."

That's how Kassandra spends some of her mornings. In silence. Weeding, watering, and whatever it is that her crops need - with Kyra. If she appears other times, Kassandra doesn't have to look at her to know why - she can feel the annoyance radiating from her.

Kassandra only wonders if farming does the same for Kyra that hunting does, too. Because for Kassandra, working together in silence, tending to her fields... Kassandra can imagine doing this for a long time - with Kyra.

But watching her, hunched over shoots and ankle-deep in mud, Kassandra keeps such silly thoughts to herself.

Until the one time Kyra catches her watching, and Kassandra can only smile sheepishly and duck her head in response.

\--

_"You've weakened Athens's grip over Delos, exposed Podarkes, and made way for a Spartan alliance. I could kiss you!"_

_"I don't see anything holding you back."_

_"You breathe life into me. If only you'd arrived on Delos before Thaletas."_

_\--_

Kassandra spends most of her days elsewhere. Islands in the Aegean are plenty, and people are still rebuilding from the War. Plenty of work for a _misthios_ around, and Kassandra loves the jingle of drachmae. Since she keeps shuttling between islands on her fishing boat, she's taken up deliveries for a pretty sum of drachmae.

Well, fine, she misses the rush of going on adventures into the unknown, and living quietly on Mykonos doesn't give her that. The thought of hunting down the remaining artefacts of Atlantis hangs in her head, but... they can wait.

She heads for Mykonos City, the twice she's been in a week. In her arms, she hefts one of Markos's amphorae of wine from her recent trip from Kos, but easily climbs the steps to Kyra's house on the hill. Helios sets at her back, evening breeze picking up... it's a gorgeous sunset. She's glad she stayed for it. Kyra's cooking is another, and she wonders what they're having tonight.

It'd been a spontaneous thing, these dinners of theirs. One invitation had turned into another, and soon, they had decided to dine together after every fifth night. Kassandra picks up on how Kyra lives alone, doesn't have guests over when they eat together - but makes no comment on it.

Eventually, the neighbours get used to an hulking _misthios_ hanging around the estate. She gets curious glances, sometimes, but Kassandra knows it's more confusion than malice. As for Kyra's guards...

Some smirk as Kassandra walks in, but they don't say more. Kassandra doesn't recognise any of them, save one. Praxos, the man with tree trunks for arms. This time, he gives her a baffling wink, and her response is simple: rolling her eyes.

Kassandra enters to the smell of warm bread and hot soup. When Kyra appears from the kitchen, sleeves rolled to her elbows and hands dusted with flour, Kassandra is transfixed; her gentle smile gleaming brighter than Helios, her uttered _Kassandra_ like the sound of Orpheus's lyre to her ears.

_\--_

_"Keen-eyed Artemis, guide my bow. I pray to you with all my heart that Kassandra doesn't scare off the animals with her heavy footsteps."_

_"I thought I was being quiet."_

_\--_

"Did you find your family?" Kyra asks, when they're three-quarters through Markos's amphora.

"I did." Kassandra doesn't remember how they've come to this, to this topic, but they've always had an easy air to them. Talking to Kyra has always been effortless. The watered-down wine helps, too. Helps her wonder if she's imagining the way Kyra looks at her. The way she used to, long ago. She sips her wine thoughtfully. "But it didn't matter in the end. I lost them again. Laid them to rest where they fell where my life ended, both times. On Mount Taygetos."

Funny, how she doesn't think of her ghosts so vividly this time. All she feels, thinks, is of warm Mykonos nights. The softness of carpets and cushions, the comfort of food in her belly. The stars amongst obsidian skies, glittering just beyond the window. She can't believe how much time has passed - has it been that long since her odyssey across the Aegean?

Time to return to that _malákes_ mountain, then. Kassandra owes that to Myrinne and Alexios, at least. Their graves need weeding. Maybe the flowers have bloomed, too.

"Oh, Kassandra." One moment, Kyra sits across her at the table. In another, she crosses the sides and engulfs her in a hug; so suddenly that Kassandra freezes. Then relaxes, the longer Kyra speaks. "I am here. _We're_ here for you, all of us in Mykonos. They might not say it, but they are grateful for what you've done for them."

"Thank you?" Awkwardly, Kassandra pats Kyra on the shoulder with her free hand. The other, she puts down her cup of wine on the table. By the gods, Kyra has been behaving strangely. "But it does not bother me much, with the time that's passed. I still have Ikaros, anyway. He's the only family I need."

Kyra chokes as she lets go. "No, no. That will _not_ do."

Kyra gets to her feet and turns to Kassandra, hands on her hips. Her expression turns expectant.

A beat. Kassandra's confusion mounts.

"What are you waiting for, Kassie? We're going out. I want to introduce you to the neighbours."

"Don't worry, they already think we're having sex."

Kyra's face turns as red as the grapes on the table. "W- what? I will have some words with them about _assuming_ -"

"No, they don't, but you look like Poseidon sank your entire merchant fleet." Grinning, Kassandra stands and tugs Kyra out into the night, hooking their arms together. "So, about those introductions..."

" _Maláka_. I forgot how sharp your tongue was. Even Thera's obsidian can't compare." Kyra rolls her eyes, resting her head against Kassandra's shoulder. "By Artemis, I've missed this."

Kassandra lets out a soft sigh, pulling Kyra closer. "Me too."

\--

_"I know a spot down by the water. It's quiet. We'd be alone. What do you say?"_

_"I'm all yours."_

_\--_

Summer comes to Mykonos in a sea of colourful blooms. It's blazing hot, too, but for the moments of meandering through the flower fields with her hands outstretched, Kassandra finds that she doesn't quite mind. She picks out a few stalks that way, those that feel soft against her fingers. With a bit of fiddling under the shade of a tree, Kassandra makes a flower crown for Kyra. It reminds her of her Olympic wreath, too, and the circumstances that led to her competing in a sport she's only heard of at that point. Gods, the shit she once got up to.

"What do you think, Ikaros?" Admiring her handiwork, Kassandra holds it out to her eagle, who flaps closer from the attention.

Ikaros nuzzles against the petals with a content burble. She laughs at his reaction; his opinion the only opinion that matters to her. "I'm glad you approve."

She returns to Mykonos City with a flower crown and the thumbs of bandits who used to harass farmers in the south; bandits who'll never hold a sword again. This pays less drachmae than their heads, but... no more killing, if she can. Hades should understand.

The farm matriarch gives her ten drachmae apiece, but she collects for only half from the fingers. Which makes her fuss and instead pile honeyed cakes in Kassandra's arms, but that, Kassandra accepts gladly. It's been a while since she had some.

A bag of food and a trip to the agora later, she finds Kyra by the docks, in the midst of instructing some ship captains. She waits on a warehouse roof with her legs dangling off the edge, stroking Ikaros's neck and sharing a honey cake between them, until the captains walk away.

She hops off - Ikaros _squawks_ from her sudden jump - and lands on her heels without so much a _thump_. Carefully, stealthily, she runs up to Kyra and plops the flower on her hair.

Kyra turns, her initial annoyance softening to bemusement as her fingers feel out what's on her head. "Kassandra. What- You remembered."

"Of course I did. The flowers reminds me of sweeter days, too." Kassandra smiles at her, radiant, and they begin walking back to the agora. The rest of her day is empty - maybe she'll linger around Kyra for while, see what the gods have planned for her. See what the oligarch of Mykonos does on a normal day.

"Do you ever think of before?"

"All the time." They find themselves heading towards the statue of Apollo near the fountain, petals scattered around the altar. Kassandra picks up a few, holds them to her nose. They exude a subtle sweetness, and Kassandra takes a deep breath. "But I know to not wish for things I cannot get."

"So do I."

Kassandra starts, flower petals falling out her grasp, forgotten. "By Zeus, it's been years. I thought you'd have moved on. You deserve someone good."

 _Someone like Thaletas_. The thought springs from nowhere, but here, in the square, she thinks of the party, of the night, and surprise quickly flashes into guilt.

"I thought I had, until I glanced seawards." Kyra frowns, concerned, as Kassandra shuts her eyes, shoulders tensing from the sudden wave of emotion. Kyra touches her elbow and the _misthios_ relaxes, just as Kyra continues, quieter than before. "I stopped, ended things again and again, because I would always compare them with that someone else. It would be selfish of me to continue."

 _Who is that someone else?_ Kassandra considers asking, but... "I used to think I was like another wandering soul in Hades's kingdom, lost, listless. Maybe the gods brought me here for a reason."

"If they did, by Artemis, I am thankful. Even then, I would recognise you in the underworld." Kyra nudges Kassandra's chin up, leads her gently to look her in the eye. "I would."

Kyra's hands find their way into Kassandra's, and Kassandra holds back oh-so-tightly, unable to do more than to follow.

How long they remain like this, the wind at their back and in the midst of people milling about the agora, Kassandra does not remember.

She remembers only the serenity washing over her; the sensation that everything will be alright, as the moon slips out behind a cloud and into the inky darkness of night.

\--

_"Delians have suffered for so long. This is the first time I've felt happiness since the war began."_

_"You can bring that to your people. These islands deserve peace - so do you."_

_\--_

They go hunting again. It puzzles Kassandra that it's taken this long for Kyra to invite her, months after she first appeared on her island like Artemis herself; a majestic sight that sucks the breath from Kassandra's lungs. Still does, Kassandra acknowledges, even if Kyra is thoroughly soaked and hair sticking to skin after falling headfirst into the sea, the one time she loses her balance trying to hop across ships in the harbour.

Even a bumbling fool would've realised this: that they've been falling into their usual patterns, a rehash of events before. As if the gods themselves had fashioned this chance for them to diverge from old paths. Because again, they hunt ibex in the rolling hills of Mykonos. Again, they stumble to the beach, giggling like besotted, drunk fools but without the wine.

And again, they watch as Helios sets in the distance, huddled close on a mat by the water. Idle chatter passes between them; of stories from the mainland, of instances from time long passed. Kassandra used to spend nights on her back, on the rooftop of a house in Kephallonia, to watch the stars in the night sky. Sometimes with Phoibe, sometimes by her lonesome, but now, she has someone else, someone new. This time, sprawled on the sand, brine in her nostrils.

It's Kyra who leans in first, languid, nudging Kassandra with her shoulder. "What is this between us?"

"I don't know." Kyra's breath is warm on her cheek, warm enough to send chills skittering across her skin. "Whatever it is, I'm thankful for it. It's been a while since I've felt better. But I don't want things to change just yet."

Kyra regards her, long enough to hear the sea breeze crash as waves against the sand. "To friendship?"

"To friendship... and come what may." Kassandra presses a kiss, chaste and brief, on Kyra's cheek.

Kyra turns to her, cheeks flushed. Her face lifts in a smile. She pulls Kassandra closer, presses her lips to her hair. "Whatever you want me to be, however long you need me, I will be. I promise you."

"As do I." Kassandra feels the summer warmth pool in her belly, seep into her fingers, banishing the chill of nights and the terror of facing the world alone. "For I am yours."

\--

_"Another challenge?"_

_"Stop looking to the future to be happy, when true happiness is right in front of you. You taught me that."_

 

 **[το τέλος.]**  


End file.
